Hearing Things
by Savendia
Summary: The one thing you can be sure of is that the creepy wind is *never* just a wind.


*Sigh* This is why a bored Savendia is a dangerous thing indeed...

Disclaimer: Not mine. I don't even own the DVDs. :-(

* * *

"What was that?"

Dean stopped before the arm his brother threw out, and craned his neck to see up where Sam was looking. Nothing.

"What was what?"

Sam spared Dean a pointed glare, and took a silent step forward into the twilight forest, listening.

Dean was silent for several seconds, scuffing one boot lightly over the dirt.

"It's coming from over there." Sam set off in the direction he had indicated without waiting for a reply. His long strides covered several meters in the time it took Dean to react to the abrupt movement.

"Dude! Wait!" Dean trotted after his brother, disgruntled at being consigned to yipping at the heels of his baby brother. Sam didn't seem to notice. He was fixated entirely on the strange noise.

Sam stopped again, and Dean nearly ran into him. Sam spun to face Dean.

"Did you hear that?"

"Did I hear what?"

"_That_!" Sam gestured with annoyed emphasis. They fell silent, and Dean again tracked his brother's gaze into the surrounding black forest.

He did hear something. An eerie breath skimmed his neck, raising goosebumps. Somewhere ahead of them, there was a soft, keening whimper.

Their gazes met. Dean shrugged and pulled out his gun, exchanging the lead magazine for rock salt.

"Any ideas?" muttered Sam, casting sideways glances around them.

Dean shrugged and released the safety. "Got me. Banshee?"

"It's too quiet for a banshee."

"Not necessarily."

Sam pulled his handgun from the back of his jeans. "Well, whatever it is…"

"C'mon, little bro." Dean flashed Sam a cheshire grin and set off into the woods. His steps were nearly silent on the leaf litter. "Let's go check it out."

The sound was sporadic. It would fade away at times, only to return moments later stronger than before. Around them, the twilight dimness faded into true dark much faster than either had anticipated. Dean began silently scribbling reminders on the walls of his brain about bringing flashlights on any future treks into the woods, no matter how late they expected to be.

They stopped as it grew to a sobbing wail, echoing around them, chased by a hair-raising breeze.

Sam brought his gun up in a steady hand. Dean, his back to his brother's, scanned the surrounding woods.

"Definitely sounds like a banshee," Sam said softly behind him. "Do banshees bring death, or just foretell it? There's lore for both theories."

"Not good for us, either way."  
Sam let a hollow laugh at that. The sound stilled as the breeze picked up, and the sound with it.

"I don't remember reading anything about a wind."

They turned their heads to look at each other, fighting the helpless feeling that was creeping into them as they began to realize that they had no idea what they were dealing with.

"Damn it," muttered Dean. "We've gotta be an hour out from where we parked the car."

Sam knelt on the ground and grabbed a stick and began tracing a circle of the protective patterns that John had drilled into his head.

"At least we can probably keep it at bay until we know what it is."

"God fucking damn it." Dean kept the gun trained on the trees. "We'd better not be spending the night."  
Sam smiled briefly. "Whatever it is, it probably came out with the dark. You might want to get comfortable."

"We rented the motel room already," he complained. "That's my hard-won cash gushing away right there."

"Shhh!" Sam stood, dusting off his hands. Both brothers turned, training iron stares on a small patch of darkness, from which a barely perceptible crack had issued.

Dean lifted the shotgun to his shoulder, Sam retrieved his own gun from the forest floor. Adrenaline thrummed through them, making every touch of the unnatural wind seem a blow, every skittering leaf a potential enemy. Another crack, and the shadowy trees seemed to shift forward...

Both brothers fired as one, and two bullets slammed with lethal force into an innocent tree.

There was a yell, and several creative swear words.

"What the hell are you kids doing?"

They jerked; whatever they were expecting, it wasn't that. The voice sounded solid and normal and, as they watched, a solid, normal-looking body shimmered into view.

It was a man, short and stocky, wearing a dark jacket that said _National Park Service_ on the breast. He was leveling his own shotgun at Sam and Dean.

Instantly, the brothers dropped their weapons and held up their hands.

"Whoa, sorry!" Dean said at the same time as Sam spoke with an audible wince in his voice.

"Sir, we are so sorry-"

"Shut up," the man said, irritably. "Don't you kids know how dangerous it is to be hunting at night?

Sam and Dean exchanged ironic glances.

Sam leaned forward slightly, the abashed, innocent kid look settling over his face. "It won't happen again, sir. We're really sorry."

"You're right it won't," the ranger groused. "You're coming with me." He pulled a flashlight from his pocket, glancing up as if to measure the amount of black in the sky.  
Dean lifted his chin. "Ah, actually…" Sam, staring off to the side, interrupted Dean before he could spin an elaborate lie to explain their behavior and the necessity of their continued presence in the woods.

"Sir, is that a…" Sam frowned along the line illuminated by the ranger's flashlight.

The ranger followed Sam's eyes. Almost invisible, several yards away in the darkening forest, a small stream trickled down the dry bed of what must have once been a far larger river. An ancient wooden waterwheel creaked and groaned, driven around its course by the growing gale. It let off a low keen as it spun helplessly several feet above the water.

The wind gusted again, and the whine increased. It gave a hiccupping sob as the rusting, rotting contraption caught on something inside itself, and was jerked on again.

"Oh, that old thing? You kids weren't looking for that, were you?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Sam and Dean hastily tripped over each other to assure him that indeed they were not looking for the old waterwheel, had not even known it was out there. The ranger plainly did not believe them. "It's falling apart. Another year and it'll be nothing but a pile of rotten boards. I keep encouraging them to tear it down – the local kids think it's a joke to dare each other up on top of it." The man's glare left no doubt as to what he thought about the local kids.

The brothers exchanged small, relieved smiles as the adrenaline seeped from their bodies.

"What're you smiling about?" Barked the ranger. He shook his shotgun at them. "I'm confiscating your weapons until we get back to town. The forest's no place for kids at night."

Sam and Dean went, resigned, but willing. The wind whispered by them as they hiked back through the trees, but it no longer held the threat of moments ago.

Dean leaned close to Sam. "Next time you decide to hear mysterious noises, let's make sure we're the ones with the flashlight, okay?"

Sam smiled ironically at his brother.

"Hey, you got something to say, you can say it to everyone," growled the ranger from behind. "Crazy kids," he muttered to himself.

* * *

Did I get anyone? Anyone at all? ...Well I tried...

Feedback is always appreciated! Virtual peanut-butter-chocolate-chip Impala-shaped cookies for everyone who reviews! (Unless you're allergic to peanut-butter, in which case they're just chocolate-chip.:D)


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